


the way you slam your body into mine reminds me i’m alive (but monsters are always hungry, darling)

by voxofthevoid



Series: couldn't get the boy to kill me [4]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Avenger Bucky Barnes, Biting, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Choking, Dominance and Submission, Face Slapping, Hair-pulling, Hate Sex, Humiliation, Hurt No Comfort, Light CBT, M/M, Masochism, No Aftercare, References to Rape Fantasies, Rough Sex, Sadism, Under-negotiated Kink, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-20 18:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20232379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxofthevoid/pseuds/voxofthevoid
Summary: He hasn’t looked Steve in the eye since Natasha called him in three weeks ago. He’s been trying so fucking hard not to fall into that old, familiar pattern. He wants Steve, of course he does, but he knows better.He tried, he did.Bucky opens the door.Steve doesn’t wait for an invitation, bodily pushing Bucky out of the way and kicking the door shut behind him. Bucky wouldn’t put up with that shit, not normally, but Steve lays his hands on him, hot and huge over bare skin, and then there’s teeth closing in on his throat, and Bucky can’tthink.He’s spun around and slammed against the door, weak wood rattling on its hinges. Steve doesn’t let up, crowding in on Bucky, all mouth and hands. They’re cruel, demanding, and push Bucky’s buttons like they’re reaching past skin and flesh and bone to wrap bloody fingers around the neediest parts of him.-It’s Steve’s turn to make terrible decisions.





	the way you slam your body into mine reminds me i’m alive (but monsters are always hungry, darling)

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from “Snow and Dirty Rain” by Richard Siken. 
> 
> Also, note those tags.
> 
> **Edit Oct 30, 2019**: THERE'S ART FOR THIS FIC NOW by the lovely [xpi-x-elx](https://xpi-x-elx.tumblr.com). [Here it is](https://xpi-x-elx.tumblr.com/post/188697365317/couldnt-get-the-boy-to-kill-me-voxofthevoid). Go check it out, it's gorgeous.
> 
> **Edit May 02, 2020**: The lovely banner is courtesy of [kocuria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kocuria) <3

* * *

* * *

Bucky almost jumps out of his skin at the knock.

He doesn’t consciously grab the knife, but it’s there all the same. He stares at it a moment before putting it away, willing his racing heart to calm the fuck down.

He’s been out of it lately. The missions are fine. Some of them are bad, today’s especially, but if the Army and then S.H.I.E.L.D taught him anything, it’s how to compartmentalize death and violence like a pro. And he needs those skills with Hydra. Bucky has seen some shit in his time, but their merry base-burning trip across Europe is challenging what remains of his faith in humanity.

But he can deal with that, always has. Steve’s the real problem.

More knocking, two curt thuds that somehow convey impatience and irritation. Probably not Natasha then; she doesn’t give things away so freely. And it’s not likely to be Sam either. Bucky gets the sense that Sam doesn’t like him very much. Sam’s clearly close to Steve, good and loyal, and Bucky’s got no excuse for how that makes him burn inside. Point is, Sam’s the type to see things very clearly. He probably took one look at Bucky’s affected nonchalance and Steve’s tight-jawed reticence and found _something_ amiss.

“Hold your horses,” Bucky calls out, forcing a cheerful note into his voice. “I’m coming.”

It’s just the four of them here. Not Nat, not Sam. He didn’t order room service. An assassin or Hydra goon would either be more subtle or just break down the door.

He’s half-naked, fresh from a shower, and he clearly remembers a night not so long ago. Towel on his hips and an invitation in the curve of his lips. He didn’t say goodbye, knew how it would end. Wanted to anyway.

He hasn’t looked Steve in the eye since Natasha called him in three weeks ago. He’s been trying so fucking hard not to fall into that old, familiar pattern. He wants Steve, of course he does, but he knows better.

He tried, he did.

Bucky opens the door.

Steve doesn’t wait for an invitation, bodily pushing Bucky out of the way and kicking the door shut behind him. Bucky wouldn’t put up with that shit, not normally, but Steve lays his hands on him, hot and huge over bare skin, and then there’s teeth closing in on his throat, and Bucky can’t _think_.

He’s spun around and slammed against the door, weak wood rattling on its hinges. Steve doesn’t let up, crowding in on Bucky, all mouth and hands. They’re cruel, demanding, and push Bucky’s buttons like they’re reaching past skin and flesh and bone to wrap bloody fingers around the neediest parts of him. He’s hard in his shorts, dick pushing obscenely against the fabric. Then Steve’s moving impossibly closer, one hard thigh slotting in between Bucky’s. The pressure’s heaven and hell all at once. His gut tightens, cock throbbing, but it’s too much too fast, and he can’t fucking breathe let alone find the air to speak.

Steve’s mouth is back on his throat, teeth worrying at sensitive flesh. It took a week last time for the marks to fade, and Bucky couldn’t look in a mirror or touch his own neck without getting worked up.

He aches for it even now, arching his neck for Steve and swallowing a whine when he’s savaged for his troubles. It hurts, it’s good, and he’s writhing where he’s pinned to the door by Steve’s warm bulk. Each twitch of his body rubs his cock against Steve’s thigh, and he can get off like this, wants to, but that flash of intent coincides with the moment Steve pulls away.

Bucky gasps an incoherent complaint, reaching for Steve, but a hand wraps around his neck, inhuman strength held barely in check. Fight or flight; a small animal covering in fear and a seasoned assassin panting for blood, but neither matters when _fuck_ is the only thing in Bucky’s mind. He freezes the way Steve wants, going limp. It’s easy with his knees week and the rest of him trembling. He’s held up by the hand on his throat, and his lungs are burning for breath.

He missed this so much.

Steve’s still in his uniform. The dark blue stealth suit does bring out his eyes, but they’re burning all on their own, piercing holes in Bucky. It’s anger and sex, a volcano fit to erupt and scorch Bucky down to the bone.

“I’m–”

Steve doesn’t let him finish. Tears off his shorts, cuts Bucky’s gasp short with a squeeze of his fist, no gentler than the hand that wraps around his cock. His thumb presses against the slit, firm and hot, but then there’s a nail scraping the sensitive head, a trail of blazing pain.

Bucky can’t even scream, not with Steve stealing his air, but he tries, mouth opening and closing in wordless gasps. Steve eases his grip just enough to let Bucky breathe.

He gulps in air, can’t seem to get enough with the way Steve’s still gripping his cock, stroking him like he’d rather punch him. It’s fast and dry for a moment before nails dig into the delicate flesh. Pain clouds his mind, drips tears down his cheeks, and Bucky’s harder than he’s ever been in his goddamn life.

Relief and pain throb sharply when Steve lets go of his cock, but then his hand’s sliding lower to cup Bucky’s balls, holding softly for a second before squeezing hard. Bucky flattens himself against the door in a vain attempt to _make it stop_, but he’s got nowhere to go, and Steve’s got him good, fingers tight around his throat and balls. He squeezes again, and Bucky blinks tears from his vision, gasps out a mangled name, and looks Steve in the eye. He finds them hard and merciless, and a bolt of fire goes straight to Bucky’s cock.

It _hurts_. Steve’s hand is too dry and too rough when it strokes Bucky’s length, and his fingers are as cruel as they’re nimble when they press along his crack and pinch the soft skin of his balls. He doesn’t know how Steve can read him like this, how he knows what Bucky can take and how he likes to take it – but maybe, maybe this isn’t about Bucky at all, just Steve and how he wants to hurt Bucky.

It shouldn’t be hot, shouldn’t white out his mind and get him squirming, but god, it does, and Steve doesn’t let up for a moment, keeping Bucky right where he wants him.

Bucky lets his head fall back and closes his eyes, giving in without so much as a whimper. It doesn’t stop him from crying, breath hitching as tears wet his cheeks. Steve’s lips brush his jaw, soft and sweet in stark contrast to the way his hands are wrecking Bucky, and he opens his eyes in time to see Steve lick up the tears on Bucky’s cheek.

He comes with a near-silent gasp, shuddering wildly and drenching Steve’s fingers.

Steve lets go, and Bucky doesn’t realize how those hands were anchoring him until his legs give away. He falls to his knees and instinctually clutches at Steve, clinging to his hips with weak knees and an addled mind. Steve does nothing to help, still as a statue with his arms at his sides. Bucky looks up and finds Steve staring dispassionately down at him, expression cold and closed off.

Bucky shudders again, well aware of the picture he makes, kneeling naked on the floor and clinging to Captain fucking America.

He rests his forehead against Steve’s thigh. It’s pathetic and he likes it, how small he feels.

It’s a relief when Steve fists a hand in his hair. For a moment, it’s just pressure on his scalp, firm and pleasant, and then it’s painful, forcing Bucky to stumble upright, hands shifting to Steve’s chest for support. It moves under his palms with deep, slow breaths. Deliberate, like Steve’s fighting for every ounce of his composure.

It drives Bucky crazy just like always. There’s something maddeningly arousing about a man who can seem so unaffected while Bucky’s a wreck at his feet, but he knows just as well that Steve _will_ lose control and let Bucky have every bit of all that he’s holding back, and that promise is just as seductive as this veneer of restraint.

As if reading Bucky’s mind, Steve grabs him by his metal arm and hauls him to bed, pushing Bucky down on it without a sliver of tenderness on his face. Bucky splays out on his back, spreading his legs in silent invitation.

Steve hesitates.

They must make an incongruent sight – something out of a porn parody maybe. Captain America and the Winter Soldier, one naked and submissive, the other still in uniform and seething with barely hidden anger. Bucky’s ventured into a few corners of the internet that would sell their souls for this sight.

The thought makes him smile, and it triggers something in Steve, an expression that’s dark and ugly. It’s gone in an instant, but he’s stripping the next second, yanking furiously at zippers and buckles. Bucky’s breathless, greedily devouring each inch of skin revealed, but even the lust burning his veins, all-consuming as it threatens to be, isn’t enough to make him ignore how fucking strange all of this is.

This isn’t like Steve at all, this anger, this violence. They’ve only been together three times, sure, but it was always Bucky initiating and pushing. Steve gave in easy, wanted it bad, but it was…different.

It’s only after Steve’s naked bulk has settled between his legs that Bucky finds his voice.

“Is this because of the mission?”

Steve quells him with a glare, and that wouldn’t stop Bucky no matter how angry Steve looks, but the hands grabbing his ass and folding him in half shut him right up. Steve doesn’t pause to admire the view, though his eyes are hungry as they rove over Bucky’s skin. One hand stays splayed against his thigh, keeping Bucky in place while the other opens a tube of lube with a quiet snick. Steve squirts it onto his cock, grimacing a little, probably at the chill, but the expression melts into something open-mouthed and dangerously seductive when he fists himself to spread the slick.

Bucky watches with wide eyes and breathes in sharply, aching even with his cock spent and soft between his legs. He didn’t know where Steve stashed the lube, didn’t even see him retrieve it when he stripped, but that he came to Bucky’s room _prepared_ makes something hot and livid unfurl in him.

“You must think I’m an easy lay,” Bucky tells him, teasing but with an edge of menace. It’s not that he minds, would be one hell of a hypocrite if he did given what he did at that gala – and fuck, it’s barely been a year since then but it feels like centuries. No, he doesn’t mind, but he doesn’t want to lie down and take it either, not unless Steve makes him.

Steve makes him.

“You are,” he says, casual, like stating a simple fact. Bucky huffs a laugh, caught off guard and incredulous, but it peters into a hiss when Steve’s nails bite into his thigh, pressing in on flesh and threatening to break through.

“Fuck you,” he spits, squirming away. Steve doesn’t let him, lube abandoned in favor of dragging Bucky close by the heels. He’s bent in half again before he can so much as curse, this time with the whole of Steve’s weight bearing down on him. He’s trapped like this, and one perfunctory swipe with his metal arm finds it caught and pinned above his head. He can feel the heat and pressure even on the metal, and there’s a fleeting wish that he could feel the calluses on Steve’s palm and the softness of his skin.

Steve’s cock rests against his hole, slick and hot as it rubs his rim, a tease and a threat.

Bucky laughs, quieter this time, and sinks into the mattress, not looking away from Steve’s eyes. They’re still hard, still angry, but Bucky can see how it’s not directed at him. Steve’s punishing himself somehow, and Bucky should stop this now. He knows what it feels like to be on the other side of that, knows how bad it hurts after.

But–

Steve fucks into him in one, harsh thrust.

Bucky’s hand tear at the sheets, ripping the fabric clean in a vain attempt to ground himself. He can’t stop moving, ass clenching and gut twisting at the sudden _fullness_, the burning pain of being taken like this. Steve’s splitting him in two, the whole monstrous length of him buried deep in Bucky, and he feels every goddamn inch of it.

He hasn’t been fucked for months, not since his last time with Steve, and the strain is maddening.

Steve doesn’t even give him time to adjust. Bucky’s breathless cries and the way he can’t stop squirming seem to spur him on, get him fucking in fast and hard, sparking hot sensation along Bucky’s walls with each ruthless stroke. He’s folded in on himself, thighs pressed along his chest and feet in the air, kept in place by Steve’s strength, and there’s nothing he can do, nowhere he can move. He has to lie there and take it, go mad by it.

He could say no – Steve would stop, he knows he would, but as long as Bucky doesn’t say no, there’s a chance that Steve won’t, a possibility that he’ll just keep Bucky there and take what he wants, and _fuck_–

Bucky doesn’t say no, just drowns in the harsh lines of Steve’s face, the rough breaths and hard thrusts, the wildness brewing in his eyes.

He looks tortured and unfairly pretty, and Bucky has to wonder if he looks the same, writhing and gasping under Steve’s brutal attention. But it’s distracting, the pain in Steve’s eyes, and Bucky’s selfish – he doesn’t like that Steve’s not all here, that a part of him is lost somewhere Bucky can’t reach. He’s not seeing Bucky even when he’s looking at nothing but him.

He unfurls one hand from the torn sheets, no easy task when Steve’s hips are slamming into him, rocking him violently even as he’s pinned down by Steve’s grip. It’s easy to lose himself to the pleasure and the pain, but Bucky’s one stubborn son of a bitch and catches Steve by the chin, metal fingers pressing short-lived bruises into all that golden skin.

“It’s not your fault, Cap,” Bucky says, not even surprised that the words leave his throat as wrecked rasps.

He gets a vicious thrust for his trouble, punching the breath out of his lungs. Steve knocks his hand away and pins it to the mattress, squeezing the wrist in warning. It creaks alarmingly at the pressure, and Bucky’s cock slowly starts to fill.

“Shut up, Barnes.”

Bucky laughs but it’s cut short and mangled into a scream when Steve sinks his teeth into the back of his bent thigh.

“Fucking _hell_, Cap, _ah_–”

On his calf, this time, leaving behind a sharp throb that will be tender for days. Bucky’s thoughts are scattered, and Steve’s unfaltering rhythm doesn’t help. He’s always been easy to fuck stupid, and no one does it as good as Steve.

He pulls himself together, digging nails into his own palm, and pins Steve with a glare.

“_Listen_, you stubborn bastard. Don’t – oh _fuck_ – don’t do this to yourself, don’t – it’s not worth it. People die, you can’t save everyone, you _know_ this, Cap.”

Of course Steve knows it. It’s there in the twist of his mouth, the burden of knowledge. Bucky’s seen too many civilian casualties written off as collateral damage to lose sleep over it, and Steve has too. He was strong in the aftermath, mournful but composed as he dealt with the local police and held a weeping husband close, but the man on top of Bucky is bleeding out of places you can’t see. Maybe it’s a good thing, that Steve can still feel the guilt when so many of them have grown too hard for it, but Bucky doesn’t like it, not when he knows how that can break a man.

“Cap–”

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

Bucky does, not because he wants to, but Steve’s a goddamn machine, ramming into him with whatever restraint he had in tatters. Bucky’s left gasping helplessly, squirming on Steve’s cock as it sets him on fire. His own dick’s bouncing with each thrust, hard and caught between their writhing bodies, and Bucky won’t walk after this, missions be damned.

“You – jesus – fuck, you can take it out on me all you want, I’ll take it all, Steve, _Steve_, but you gotta – you gotta know it’s not your–”

The blow snaps Bucky’s head to the side, and he comes all over himself with a shocked whimper.

Steve’s handprint is burning on his cheek. His cock aches as it throbs his release, come spilling hot on his skin.

Bucky’s head spins, pain and pleasure mingling into a barrage of sensation that numbs all sense. He doesn’t know how long it takes for him to come back to himself, but suddenly, there’s blue and gold in his vision and Steve’s motionless over and inside him.

Bucky blinks up at him, face throbbing and mind still a mess. Steve touches his face, fingers ghosting over the skin swollen from his hit. It trails down, skimming over Bucky’s neck and chest and stopping at the warm mess on his belly.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve breathes, and Bucky can’t tell whether it’s disgust that thickens his voice – or reverence.

And he doesn’t care because he’s _empty_ the next moment, hole stinging from it, but he doesn’t have time to think, let alone voice, a complaint before he’s being manhandled onto his stomach, face down and ass up.

Steve’s fingers wind into his hair, and Bucky’s eyes flutter close even before he’s shoved down hard, anything he could say muffled by a pillow. Steve slides back home in one smooth glide and sets a pace that has Bucky gasping into the sheets, fingers clenching weakly as he’s rocked back and forth.

He doesn’t last long. Bucky moans as he’s filled up. Steve grinds his hips through his orgasm like he wants to push his come deeper into Bucky, keep it all tucked inside, and Bucky writhes for him, panting and hot all over.

It hurts when Steve pulls out, but it’s the come spilling hot over his rim that tears another whine from him.

Steve lets him go, and Bucky sinks into the bed, turning his head to the side and gulping in air. The mattress shifts as Steve climbs off. He’s out of Bucky’s sight, standing on the other side of the bed. He wants to turn and look, speak and finish what he started when he was getting fucked silly, but he doesn’t have the energy for either. He listens numbly to the sound of Steve getting dressed, the soft fall of his footsteps.

The door clicks quietly.

Bucky doesn’t fall asleep. He doesn’t even doze. But he drifts for a while, lying there on his stomach with come cooling on his skin and his ass throbbing something fierce.

When his thoughts assemble back into some sense of coherence, his limbs are stiff. He groans when he rises into a sitting position, one he doesn’t hold for long when his backside flares in complaint. He’s gonna feel this for days, won’t walk right or sit without feeling what Steve did to him. That’s fine, he likes it, and anyway, they don’t have a mission until the messy aftermath of this one is sorted out.

It should be perfect, really. This is exactly what he wanted from the moment he made that ill-advised move on Steve in the gym.

Doesn’t make sense, this hollow feeling in his chest.

Bucky doesn’t dwell on it, but it lingers even as he limps into the shower and scrubs the last hour from his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> Drop me a comment if you can <3


End file.
